Somnolence
by Catalina Day
Summary: There are no happy endings here, Caitlin knows; just the things she breaks as she’s moving by. --Caitlin/Jim-- FINAL CHAPTER UP.
1. one

**Summary:** Caitlin is 16. She and Jim get a little too close for comfort. There are no happy endings here, Caitlin knows; just the things she breaks as she's moving by.

**A/N:** If you don't like this pairing, that's fine. I, myself, am quite the avid Caitlin/Eric shipper, though this is the first fanfic I've ever written for Caitlin's Way. However, this idea kind of took a hold of me, and just wouldn't let go. Try to see it for what it is; not an excuse to get two characters together, but rather a chance to explore the dynamics of a relationship. About the poem, well... it's my favorite, and it inspired me. :)

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_**Somnolence**_

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_Music, when soft voices die,_

_Vibrates in the memory -_

_Odours, when sweet violets sicken,_

_Live within the sense they quicken._

_Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,_

_Are heaped for the beloved's bed;_

_And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,_

_Love itself shall slumber on._

--Percy Bysshe Shelly

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**1.**

The first time it happens, Caitlin can't sleep. She throws her jacket on over her pajamas, and slips into her boots as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she opens the door and stumbles out into the cool air.

She can breathe again, and she breathes deeply. For a moment she thinks she can trace the scent of stars in the deep black night. She realizes it's probably just her imagination, but she lets it run away with her through her head, because it's better than what she's been thinking about all night.

As she's staring at all those hydrogen bombs floating out in space, she notices, out of the corner of her eye, a soft glow coming from the barn. As remembered photos and songs fly burning through her head, she decides to take a look. Makes her way over slowly and carefully, her heart whispering: _mother, mother_. She always did have trouble keeping these thoughts at bay.

Just beyond the soft glow, she finds him, a block of wood in one hand, pocket knife in the other.

'Caitlin,' he says. But it's soft, not a reprimand. She almost jumps at the gentle tone.

'Hey Jim…' Not sure where to go from here. Never sure of anything, no matter how hard she tries to fake it.

'Couldn't sleep?'

'Nope,' she says, entering slowly. 'How 'bout you? Thinkin' about all those crack houses you're gonna take down tomorrow?'

He smiles lightly, but doesn't look up from his carving. 'You know me; always on the job.'

Caitlin likes this. This is better, easier than crying bitterly in dark rooms over things she'll never have. Likes the way the soft glow of the lamp seems to caress Jim's features, making more than his voice seem gentle.

'And what are you thinking about?'

The question jars her for a moment, because he's looking right in her eyes now, unashamed. The words come out before the message gets from her brain to her mouth. 'My mom.'

His eyes don't show pity, only understanding, and he doesn't ask anymore questions. Just gestures at the stool next to his. She sits, warily. Can't help but notice the short distance between them, the heat she feels in her cheeks. He hands her another block of wood, and a smaller pocket knife from the work bench in front of them.

Her breath hitches when his hand lingers in hers, the cool metal of the knife warming between them. She pretends nothing has happened as she sets to work, trying to carve life out of dead wood.


	2. two

**Somnolence**

2.

The second time it happens, Dori and Griffin are off on a mother-son bonding trip. Dori's idea, but Griffin doesn't want to hurt her feelings, and so he goes quietly, for the most part. Caitlin and Jim are left to their own devices.

Jim is in the living room when Caitlin comes downstairs in the morning, and she sits on the opposite end of the couch. She tries to watch whatever he's watching, but can't keep her eyes from peeking up at him every few minutes. The air is heavy between them.

'I'm getting some orange juice,' she says, standing awkwardly and walking behind the couch toward the kitchen. 'You want some?'

'Sure.'

And so, armed with two glasses of orange juice, she approaches him. Stretches her hand out carefully toward him. A peace offering. When their hands come in contact again, Caitlin can't help the puff of air that escapes her lips in a little gasp. Doesn't notice the glass slipping from their fingers until it's too late.

'I'm so sorry!' Her first reaction is to apologize like there's no tomorrow. Her second is to run away. Only this time, she just wants to get paper towels. But the hand wrapped around her wrist is preventing her, tugging her back toward him gently.

'It's okay…'

She turns around because she doesn't want to stop this time, wants him to know, wants to feel that hand in hers. They stand for a moment, looking in each other's eyes, before they lean in. And suddenly Jim is kissing her, but Caitlin doesn't care because she's kissing him back and for once she doesn't want to cry. Because his lips are setting her on fire in the best possible way.

Just as suddenly as they came together, they are thrust apart. Everything comes crashing in on their golden moment, and Caitlin wants to laugh and cry at the same time, and she wonders if this is really better, or maybe just a different way to die inside. So she runs, like she always does when things get difficult. Only now, she runs up into her room. Sits on the bed, staring at the wall in shock. Puts her fingers softly to her lips, and tries to breathe.


	3. three

**A/N:** It's been a while... this finally burst from my brain about a week ago, and I just now got around to posting it. I'd really appreciate some feedback (the good, the bad, and even the ugly, at this point). ;)  
I just really want to know what people think of this story: the pairing, the writing, the flow (or lack thereof, if that's what you think), anything. Please? :D

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**Somnolence**

3.

The third time is hardly the charm, and it's certainly not lucky. It's like she's watching a movie, and she can't believe that this is actually happening.

She's in the barn again, late at night. A small, dim lamp sits beside her on Jim's work bench. Her mind is too full to sleep, thoughts swirling in her head like a million little tornadoes. The crumpled photograph in her hands feels worn, and she wonders why she didn't take better care of it. The only thing she thinks she hasn't completely destroyed is her camera, and she decides that that's really not much at all.

There's Jim standing next to Dori who has her hand on Griffin's shoulder. Griffin is smiling like a doofus. He gets it from his dad, a smile that Caitlin hates herself for loving. And there she is, standing awkwardly to the side, not quite prepared for all of this. She was never prepared for anything, and even now that she's 'part' of the family, she still doesn't feel like she belongs. Caitlin has always been a square peg in a round hole.

So she's sitting and thinking, and trying not to cry, when she feels a soft warm hand come down on her shoulder. The picture is thrown from her hand when she jumps, and she watches it float to the ground before she turns halfway.

'Jim…' She's pleading with him for her salvation. Her hand covers his almost without her brain's input. But that makes sense, because her mind is a maelstrom right now. She can feel the warmth of his breath as he leans closer, the reality of his want for her coming out in short, ragged bursts of air. His hand is heavy, but it feels so good under her own.

If he says her name, there's no going back. The line is frighteningly close; she's on the tips of her toes. Nobody can balance that way forever. His hand moves down so slowly. When Caitlin moves it toward her chest she is terrified of herself. She could stop him now, she thinks. It would be so easy to push his hand away and run, but that's just a half-assed theory because right now, for once in her life, she wants to do anything _but_ run.

She can feel him nuzzling her hair, and she is made of electricity. Ready to explode violently like a chemical reaction. 'Caitlin.' His voice is so deep, and so certain, and she is completely undone. Contact. His hand is on her breast. Skin burning. Before she even knows it, she has turned into him fully and they are kissing. But this is more than that, somehow. This is giving and taking and choosing each other again and again, and not caring about what's right or wrong, just what is.

As she pushes Jim backward into a pile of hay, she is acutely aware of the fact that she's burning a bridge she may only get to cross the one time. She decides to make it count.

The third time is special and stupid and wonderful, because it's _their_ _first_ time. It is also their last.


	4. four

**A/N:** So here it is, kids; the last installment of this story. Yes, I finally found it and typed it up, and I'm still super happy with it. Again, if you don't like the pairing, that's fine. All I ask is that you try to keep an open mind, and leave constructive criticism if you choose to review. Once again, I'd like to thank those of you who have reviewed, and let you know that it means so much to me; thanks again! And, enjoy!

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**Somnolence**

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4.

The pancakes are fluffy and warm, and have soaked up just enough syrup to make Caitlin want to moan in appreciation when she takes a bite.

She looks at the little brown-haired girl sitting across from her, syrup smeared across her cheeks, and smiles. Right now, in this moment when her daughter is building a pancake castle out of her left over food, Caitlin really sees her. She brings her camera to her face, adjusts the focus, and with a snap, preserves her daughter's face on film.

"_Mo_mmy!" The soft cry brings her back, and her smile transforms into a grin as she puts the camera away.

"_Ha_nnah!" The imitation does not go over well with Hannah, as she rolls her eyes and breathes a weary sigh.

"I thought I told you no fash photogerphy."

Caitlin can't help but let out a bright little laugh at that. Hannah pokes a rather vicious hole into her half-uneaten pancake. Caitlin sighs, still smiling, and dips her napkin into her cup of water. She reaches over and wipes softly but firmly at her daughter's hands, and then face.

"I can't help it," she says, "if my little girl is so awesomely fantastic that I want to take pictures of her _all_ the time."

Hannah seems to consider this for a moment, then nods in affirmation of whatever decision she's come to. "It's okay, mommy. I forgive you."

The look on her five-year-olds' face sends a chill down her spine, as it sometimes does; so serious, but quick to smile when it counts. Like she's always saving it for something special. And she wonders briefly, while crumpling the napkin onto her plate, if personality traits can be transferred through DNA. She knows it's a silly thought, but she's suddenly no longer hungry.

She smiles sadly at the little girl with the brown pig tails and a questioning look on her face. "Time to go, messy girl," she says, offering a small, blue jacket.

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_The night that she left, it had been raining hard._

_By the time she was four hours away, sitting on a Greyhound bus with only four people and her backpack for company, they had found the note._

_She had shifted in her seat, her right hand resting on her abdomen. In her left there was a crinkled piece of notebook paper._

_The ink was blue, and smudged in places; worn, like she'd read it a million times._

_It was everything she'd never had the chance to say to Jim, and everything she never would._


End file.
